Sweet Rolls From The Grave
by Creature of Habit
Summary: A companion set to Last Rites and Lemon Meringue. Rated M because Marik and Bakura do a lot of cursing.
1. Chapter 1

This is a companion set to _Last Rites and Lemon Meringue_. If you have not yet read that one, please do so. Otherwise, this here is going to make _less _than no sense to you. It might do you good to read _You Owe Me A Dollar _as well. The passing remark made by Bakura at the end of the third chapter is _much _more amusing if you are familiar with who and what he is referencing.

This is the deal. Malik thinks he _did _kill Yami. Yami, of course, is _not _dead. The appearance of a sweet roll on the front porch chair has Malik _convinced_ that Yami has returned to haunt him.

This turned out a _lot _funnier than I thought it would. Malik is so adorable in this. I kind of feel bad that it actually _is _so comical. It is basically a story about Malik going insane. But, well... just read it. I honestly believe you will love it.

What inspired me to write this? I actually found a cinnamon roll on my front porch chair. The thing is...I was home. _All day_. I also, in addition to a psychotic cat, own a Chihuahua who barks if the _grass blows_. No one could have possibly _walked _onto my front porch and left it there. Yes. _Very _creepy. But... it _did_ inspire me to write this. I think we will call it even.

**Disclaimer: I am making no money from this venture. I own nothing but the iced cinnamon roll mentioned in this story. If you sue me, that is all you are going to get. An iced, and very quite possibly **_**haunted/cursed **_**cinnamon roll. Still want to sue me? That is what I thought.**

**Sweet Rolls From The Grave  
**By: Creature of Habit

Malik emptied more of the flavored creamer into his freshly brewed cup of coffee. In his opinion, there was no such thing as _too _much hazelnut goodness. No matter what Marik said. Taking an inquisitive sip, he smiled. Perfection. Dropping the soiled spoon into the sink with a quiet clack, the drowsy blonde padded back to the bar, which was, as usual, littered with various coupons, store fliers, and, as of yet, unpaid bills. That reminded him...

"Marik?" Malik gracefully covered his yawn with the back of his hand, poking his head around the corner to peer into the, unsurprisingly empty, living room. A grumpy pout. "Always so _conveniently _missing when I need him." The hikari griped to the couch as he and his fuzzy purple slippers stomped past. Marik _knew_ how much he _hated _going out in the cold! _Especially _after a rain.

The unhappy blonde uttered more than a few choice words as he stepped out into the strident winds. The feel of arctic air crawling under his lilac bathrobe to molest his more delicate parts caused him to yelp as he scrambled across the long front porch to the mail box. Stupid Marik! Stupid, kinky weather! He gathered the stack of magazines and envelopes as fast as he could, noting, with more than a small amount of derision, that the stupid mail box was leaking, and pivoted back for the warm sanctuary that was his house.

With a loud thump, the bundle tumbled onto the white-washed, rain-dampened porch planks.

Malik blinked. And blinked again. He turned a tight circle, feeling more than a touch unnerved at the eerie development. Had he failed to notice it in his initial haste? Or...? Lavender pools slowly settled back upon the object resting, silent and lackadaisical, between he and the front door. He struggled to swallow around the thick knot in his throat.

Sitting, a little _too _innocently, on one of the wicker front porch chairs, was a lone, iced sweet roll.

**FIN**

Not a heck of a lot going on here. Except for the weather molesting poor Malik. All because mean Marik was not there to go get the mail for him. And, just what is with that creepy sweet roll?

Reviews are, as always, welcome and appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

I think, throughout this _whole _series, Malik comes across most adorable here. Nutty as a fruitcake, perhaps. But still cute as a button. Yes. Malik Ishtar makes crazy look _good_. He always has. He will continue to do so.

**Sweet Rolls From The Grave  
**By Creature of Habit

Marik studied the scene in front of him. Mail was scattered all over East Jesus across the front porch. His poor hikari never had been quite the same since the infamous _turkey of mass destruction _last Christmas. But, this was certainly a new one. Shaking his head, more than a little concerned about what degree of bedlam he would be walking into _this _time, Marik retrieved the saturated mess and fumbled for the key in his pocket.

"He's back."

The words were spoken but a hair above a whisper. However, it was more than enough to send Marik, already on pins and needles, nearly jumping out of his skin. The mail ended up scattered all over East Jesus, _again_, this time lending its decoration sense to the living room. The startled man made a grab for the swiveling, urn-shaped lamp, managing to catch it just before it committed suicide on the polished walnut floor.

"Ra-_damn it_, Malik!" Marik pinned the devastatingly beautiful boy, curled up on the couch, with a pissed glare. Blink. _This_ was a new one, too. Malik had the blue crochet blanket wrapped around him, head and all, like a papoose, with just those big lavender jewels and his platinum bangs visible. Oh. This was _too _rich. "Who are you supposed to be – E.T.?" The sound of the spiky-haired man chuckling had Malik seeing red.

"_Stop it_!" Malik snapped, jumping up from the sofa and bunny-hopping over to his amused yami. The vision, as adorable as it was side-splitting, soon had Marik laughing so hard he almost peed. "This is _not _funny, Marik!"

"Oh, the hell it _isn't_!" Marik panted. "Have you chanced a glance at yourself lately?" To prove his point, he spun his wild-eyed hikari around to face the large glass hutch. "Wanna go for a bike ride in the moonlight?" More hysterical laughter.

Malik blushed a curious shade of red.

"_Fine – _I look like a demented alien in a cocoon! _Happy _now?" Malik twirled back around to Marik, who appeared to be coming down from his giggle high. Just a little bit. Thank Ra. Now, maybe he would stop busting a gut long enough to listen.

"You forgot this outside." Marik dragged the cinnamon roll teasingly across the tip of the other pert nose just inches from his own.

"Aah!"

Marik was not sure whether to clutch his ears, which he would have sworn were bleeding from the pealing squeal that he did not even _know_ his hikari _capable_ of producing, or the back of his head, which was throbbing something awful now, thanks to the papoosed Malik rudely ramming him off balance to fall hard into the wall. He caught a fleeting glimpse of knitted cornflower as his papoosed assailant hopped to hide behind one of the stuffed chairs on the far side of the room.

"Jesus H. _Christ_, Malik! What the hell is _wrong _with–"

"Get that thing _out of here_! Out of the _house_, Marik – get it _out of here_!"

"It's just a damn–"

"_**Out**_!"

"But, Malik–"

"I said _**OUT**_!"

"_**FINE**_!" Throwing open the front door, Marik forcefully chucked the thing out onto into the inky night.

"What are you _doing_?" Malik shrieked, suddenly popping up like a jack-in-the-box beside Marik. "You can't throw it out _there_!" Those big lavender gems were the size of owl eyes now.

"How the _fuck_ did you _do that_?" Marik looked between the far chair and Malik, scratching his head in disbelief, and just a tinge of worry.

"_Go get it_!"

"_**What**_?!"

"Go get it _now_!" Malik punctuated his demand with a hard stomp of his right foot. "Now, _now_, _**now**_!" Stomp, stomp, stomp!

Marik blinked. "Have you been cleaning the toilet with that hydrochloric acid shit again? You _know _I banned you from using it because of what the fumes do to you." Marik set Malik with a look of concern.

"_**Marik**_!" Lavender oceans hovered on the cusp of tears.

"_**Okay**_!"

Last time he _ever _threw something and did not look where he tossed it. Digging through, rooting around, trying to explain to one neighbor that he was _not _pilfering her trash, assuring the other neighbor that he was _not _a burglar, and no, he was most absolutely _not_ peeping in her windows. _My moody_,_ deranged hikari has decided he wants back the cinnamon roll he told me to throw out in the first place_. Marik sincerely doubted that confessing this would have made him any less of a criminal, or a pervert, in their minds. It would probably only serve to confirm their crack-pot suspicions of him.

The darkness thudded into the house, mad, dirty, and coated in the sweat of his exertions, some thirty minutes later.

"_There_." Marik growled, tossing the roll at the blue mummy on the couch.

"Aah!"

"Ow!" Marik glowered down at the hard roll that had just smacked him in the back of the head. The same heated glower was now burning holes through the terrified looking Malik.

"Get it _**out**_!" Malik was plastered so tight to the back of the couch that Marik felt certain he was going to become part of the fabric.

"What the _fuck_, Malik?" Marik snarled, eyes clenching shut as he draped a frustrated hand over his face. "I just spent _half an hour _snooping through yards, damn near getting the police called on me _twice_, that wrinkled old prune across the street is _convinced _I want to _rape _her now..."

"_Get it out of here_! _Out_, _out_, _out_!" Malik screamed, rolling around in convulsive circles on the couch.

"I swear to Ra, Malik..." Marik hissed.

"_**OUT**_!"

"I am _not _going on another _midnight expedition_!" Marik thrust open the front door, arm drawing back to chuck the thing out into the black of night for a second, and you better believe _last_, time.

"_**NO!**_"

"Ra-damn it, Malik – _would you make up your fucking mind_!" Marik spun to shoot Malik a threatening scowl. Where the hell did he... "Gah!" Marik nearly leaped out of his skin for the second time that evening as Malik did his abominable jack-in-the-box trick again. "How the _**fuck **_are you doing that?!" It had to be humanly impossible to make out that quick as a blanket mummy.

"Put it back on the _chair._" Malik leaned to whisper in his ear.

"What."

"The chair – _the chair_. _**Put it back on the chair, Marik**_!"

"Oh, for the love of..." Marik was tempted to just crush the blasted pastry in his palm. The only thing that stopped him was, what the hell kind of god awful insanity would _that_ unleash, if just throwing the darn thing out was enough to cause all this. "_Fine_. I'll go put it back on the _chair_." Marik drawled, tone not unlike the one used to mollify a discomfited three year old.

"Thank you." Malik placed a delicate peck on one of the bronze cheeks before smiling and turning to bunny-hop back toward the couch.

Marik shook his head and let himself out onto the porch, placing the iced sweet roll, as Malik had instructed, back onto the green cushion of the wicker chair. _Mental note. Never leave Malik alone for more than an hour_.

**FIN**

An E.T Malik. Dear God. What is _wrong _with me? But... just _so _cute! Ramming Marik into the wall and the then bunny-hopping to hide behind the chair. _Cavity inducing_!Oh. You gotta give Marik his due. He sure does have patience with his poor hikari.

Review me, pretty please!


	3. Chapter 3

Bakura and Marik are pretty funny in this chapter. I _do_ feel a little bad for Ryou – but not _too _much. Ryou knows how to handle his pain in the butt yami, I think.

**Sweet Rolls From The Grave  
**By: Creature of Habit

Bakura blinked. "Run that by me again." God. He could not possibly have heard him right. Could have _sworn _he said...

"Malik is convinced that Yami has returned as a sweet roll and is haunting him from a chair on our front porch." Marik, cheek pressed to the cool wood of the kitchen table, mumbled. The tiny sparrow on the picket fence he had been watching for the past ten minutes flew away. Smart bird.

Bakura leaned his head back to ponder the cottage cheese ceiling for a long moment. "Yami haunting Malik... as a _sweet roll_." The tomb robber rolled the words around on his tongue, nodding. Dropping his head to look at his friend through slanted eyes, Bakura erupted into the uncontrollable fit of laughter Marik had been expecting since last night.

"I wish to _Ra _I was making it up." Marik, serious as a heart attack, raised his head. "I have a good mind to demand our money back from that psychiatrist." The grave man reached for the maroon mug, downing another long swig of coffee. How many times had Malik made them change houses in the past eight months? He had stopped counting at six.

"Hey, Ryou!" Bakura shouted.

"Ex_cuse _me." Marik hissed. "Do you _mind_?" Had his aching head not been put through enough already?

Bakura blinked. "No." The indifferent shrug and trademark smirk the quarter on another game of Marik skull pinball. "_Ryou_!" He pounded a bare foot on the kitchen floor to gain the attention of his snow-haired hikari, who was dutifully doing up the laundry in the basement. Or, something along those lines.

"Malik hates it when I do that." Marik smirked, wistful twinkle in his hazy violet eyes.

"So does Ryou." Bakura winked. "Why do you think I'm doing it?" This particular stomp could be heard to rattle the foundation of the entire house, making both men chuckle. "_**Ryou, get your lazy ass up here – NOW**_!" Bakura took a little _too_ much pleasure in raising the dander of his hikari than was healthy, sometimes.

Marik frowned. "Yeah, but Malik short-circuits. Loud noises bring back memories of the day he _killed Yami_." He punctuated the last two words with air quotes, thereafter dropping his chin into the lap of his open palm.

Bakura scowled as he tapped his pack of cigarettes against the heel of his hand. The very idea was such a _tease_. He quirked a brow at Marik, who declined the invitation of a smoke. The flick of the lighter as he balanced the filter between his pouty lips, and thoughts of, perhaps, coaxing Malik behind a well-greased ham.

"Thanksgiving weekend he barricaded us in the house." Marik just barely stifled the urge to slap Bakura for that snort. "I had to watch _Oobi _and the _Muppet Babies _for _three days_!" Oh. God. The unadulterated horror.

Bakura blinked. "What the hell is _Oobi_?" The blued smoked from the burning stick the tomb robber held traced disjointed lines through the air, conveying that it was also confused.

Marik just shuddered. Yes. _That _bad.

Bakura growled deep in his throat. "Where the fuck is he?" Another loud stomp. "_While we're still young_, _Ryou_!" Hold on. What the hell was he saying? "You've already had me waiting so long I've gone _senile_, thank you, Ryou!" Stomp. Stomp, stomp.

"You're five thousand years old, Bakura. I think it safe to say you're _way past _senile." Marik taunted. Bakura paused to look at him. Wait for it. "Right, that includes me."

"You see that, Ryou? Marik has gone senile, _too_! And all because you move like a fucking turtle through _peanut butter_!" Stomp, stomp, stomp... the stomping stopped as an angry face popped through the threshold. "About fucking time. What the hell took you so long?" Bakura barked as the boy wearing the adorable baby blue bandana he _always_ wore when he did the chores, clomped to stand in front of him.

"You know very _well _what took me so long, Bakura." Ryou, hands on his hips, narrowed chocolate-drop eyes at his impatient yami. "And just how many _times _do I have to warn you about _not _stomping the floors?" He leaned down, their noses touching. "You're putting cracks in our walls, and one of these days, you're going to knock me _unconscious _with those big chunks you're knocking out of the basement ceil–" Ryou eeped, breaking out in the typical rosy blush, as Bakura, tired of waiting for his hikari to calm down, yanked him forward into his lap.

Bakura blinked at Marik, who just blinked back. "_Well_, Marik?!" The tomb robber growled, kicking the other man hard in the shin under the kitchen table.

"Ow!" Marik yowled. What the fuck? "You little son of a bitch!" Murder etching his dark features, Marik promised himself he would kill the thief. He would! Just as soon as his shin stop stinging and the fucking room stopped spinning.

"Bakura, why on _earth _did you just kick Marik?" Ryou had a harder time figuring out his yami than he thought was necessary, most of the time.

"Oh, my _God –_ Ryou... just wait until you _hear this_." Bakura collapsed into laughter just thinking about it.

"Is _that _what you interrupted me for?" Ryou pursed his lips, glare of annoyance boring holes in Bakura. "_Gossip_?" The hikari leaped to his feet, slapping the hands that grabbed for him aside. "I swear, Bakura – why don't you just go sit in the salon with the rest of the old _chatty Kathie's_?" Retrieving the broom from the closet so he could sweep up _more _debris from tornado Bakura in the basement, Ryou disappeared back through the threshold.

Bakura lit another cigarette between his lips. "Because Miss Roberts still has that restraining order out on me!" Duh.

"She won't need it after _I _get done with you." Marik grunted. Jesus. What the hell were Bakura's feet made out of?

"Oh, shut up." Bakura droned, blowing a puff of smoke in Marik's face.

**FIN**

You will remember Miss Roberts as the old neighbor lady Bakura mooned, or, at least he had her thinking he did, in _You Owe Me A Dollar_.Oh. What is _Oobi_? Dear Lord. How to describe the thing. It is a show for very little children. It utilizes human hands as puppets - or, something along those lines. Yes. Poor, poor Marik.

Drop me a review please!


	4. Chapter 4

This chapter is short. And a little bit sad. I think the subtlety of it is what makes it so poignant. It really shines a light on how tough all of this is for Marik.

**Sweet Rolls From The Grave  
**By: Creature of Habit

It was still on the front porch. It was still in that same chair. A week and a day had passed. But, there sat that damn sweet roll, hard, icing cracking and bits flaking everywhere, where Malik demanded it _had _to be. The traumatized hikari refused to let anyone remove it, on the grounds that it would anger the ghost of Yami. How come the squirrels had not absconded with the thing? This is what Marik idly wondered as he scribbled down another item on the grocery list.

"Shoo – you leave him alone!" Malik, wrapped in his blue crochet blanket, snapped, palms slapping the window pane to chase the bushy-tailed creature off the front porch. No one touched the Sacred Sweet Roll of Yami. No one!

"Well, that solves _that _mystery." Marik muttered under his breath as he entered the living room.

"I beg your pardon?" Something about Malik blinking those big, soulful eyes at him never ceased to turn his insides to goo.

Marik, dropping to his knees in front of the chair now, entwined their hands and pulled Malik in for a quick kiss. "Can you think of anything else we need from the store?"

Malik thought it over for a minute. "No, nothing comes to mind." With a smile, he shook his head. "M-Marik?" Malik half-chuckled as the tapered bronze fingers slid a lock of hair gently behind his left ear. "What are you... what are you doing?" How come his yami was looking at him like that?

Marik sighed. "Admiring you." The blonde silk caught the last rays of the dying sun, creating an almost sublime halo effect over the head of his hikari. The sight made his chest tighten like a vice. The last time he had viewed Malik like this, he was not... he was not...

"Marik?" Malik blinked as Marik abruptly planted a kiss on his forehead and headed to the closet, retrieving his long, black leather jacket.

The muted click of the front door locking shut.

Malik blinked at the piece of paper as it fluttered to the floor in front of him. "You forgot the...grocery list." He whispered to the empty room.

**FIN**

I thought everything I wrote for this story was going to be, more or less, straight comedy. However, this scene came like a bolt out of the blue, deciding otherwise. I am glad it did. In truth, although this is a comedy, underneath, it really is a tragedy. I think this chapter really helps to expose that. Oh. But do _not _let that deprive you of the humor of all this. It is meant to make you laugh. I would be insulted if you did not.

Reviews would be much appreciated!


	5. Chapter 5

This chapter contains one of my favorite lines through the whole series. I had no idea how Malik should respond and then – _eureka_! Wow.

**Sweet Rolls From The Grave  
**By: Creature of Habit

Angling the small butane torch, Malik smiled as he lit the last wick. It was a good thing he had chosen to invest in these oversized hurricane holders. Conducting a candlelight seance on his front porch would have been a real bitch, otherwise. Having a best friend who happened to be a necromancer was a big help, too – not that Ryou _knew _he had borrowed his grimoire, but...

Let us see. Protective salt circle to keep out evil spookies? Check. Seven white, jasmine scented, candles? Check. Jasper and Chrysoprase amulet? Check. Amber incense? Check. Photo of Yami? Well... crudely drawn _picture _of Yami. Marik had throw out all the photos because he was sick of Malik apologizing to them. Yes? Check. Full moon? Check. Incantation? Crap. He could not make heads or tails of whatever language this was.

When in doubt...

"Yami? Are you there?" Malik whispered, kneeling in front of the chair on his purple meditation cushion, dressed in his white terry cloth bathrobe. "Hello? Yoo-hoo?" Ryou was probably just being overly cautious. What was the worst that could happen if one improvised?

"You got any spare change?"

Apparently... a dirty hobo.

"I'm a..." Malik gulped, lavender eyes big as saucer plates. "I'm kind of trying to talk to s-someone I... I _killed_...right now." He shakily nodded his head toward the crumbling sweet roll.

He and the hobo looked at each other a long moment.

The sound of shoes beating a fast path down the blacktopped drive, followed in short by a metallic symphony of trash cans scattering into the street and the startled yowl of a cat could be heard in the background.

"I _told _Marik to return those to the back yard." Malik shook his head, before turning his attention back to the sad looking object on the chair.

**FIN**

Naughty Malik. Stealing his best friend's grimoire. Scaring a poor hobo. What will he do next? But, that line... _I'm kind of trying to talk to someone I killed right now_. I have no idea where that came from... but it just pulled the whole thing together. The ritual? I made it up. Hn. The only thing Malik cares about after he scares the hobo is that Marik neglected to put the trash cans back. _This _is why I love Malik to pieces.

Review! Review!


	6. Chapter 6

I wonder what Marik is up to while Malik is out holding a front porch seance for the _not _dead Yami? Hn.

**Sweet Rolls From The Grave  
**By: Creature of Habit

Yami spun a couple of wild circles, before skidding to a stop against the hard bark of one of the large Oak trees in the front yard. He watched the frantic man continue his pell-mell scramble down the block, before dissolving into the shadowy landscape beyond the reaches of the lighted lamppost.

The Pharaoh cast a wary glance at the young man on the dimly lit porch. The last time he came anywhere near Malik, he ended up getting shot with a turkey. _This _time, he came within a whisker of being made into roadkill by a rampaging hobo. He could not _believe _he had let himself be buttonholed into cutting his honeymoon with Yugi in Italy short for this.

Yami started to turn on his heel.

_Do it... and you know what comes next._

Yami scowled.

_Some choice. Either Malik kills me_, _or you do!_

_Who said anything about killing __**you**__?_

The sadistic chuckle sent ice coursing through his veins.

_What do you..._

_He's n-not fooling_, _Y-Yami._

A very weak, very frightened voice.

_Yugi? You bastard! You let him go this instant_, _or..._

_Fix my hikari_, _Pharaoh... or __**I'll **__fix __**yours**__._

When Marik Ishtar took that tone, even the Pharaoh listened.

**FIN**

Well, that explains where Marik has been. Apparently barging in on Yami and Yugi on their honeymoon. It honestly makes you wonder just exactly _what _methods Marik used to buttonhole Yami.

Drop me a review on your way out, please!


	7. Chapter 7

So...Yami is at the Malik and Marik household. The question is, what happens next? Remember... if Yami does not fix Malik, Yugi gets it. Poor Yugi. Because Marik means it.

**Sweet Rolls From The Grave  
**By: Creature of Habit

Malik cradled his knees to his chest, rocking himself back and forth atop his purple silk meditation pillow.

He had been trying for almost an hour to contact Yami, to no avail. On top of that, he had no idea where _his_ yami had went, or when the man was destined to return. How long had he been gone now? Marik never left him alone for this long. The mercury was fast dropping below freezing, and the melancholic hikari began to wonder if his darkness would come home to find a Malik popsicle on the front porch.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so, _so _sorry." The same remorseful chant he had been whispering for the past ten minutes, lips quivering and teeth chattering even harder. "I didn't mean to kill you. I _didn't_." More tears leaked through nearly iced ebony lashes.

"Malik."

Malik stopped rocking.

"Malik?"

Lavender pools widened as he scrutinized the still sweet roll, leaning in close. "Yami?" Malik whispered.

"Yes, it's me."

A bronze fingertip experimentally poked the pastry. Poke. Poke, poke, poke. Poke.

"Stop that!"

Malik lurched backward, slapping a stunned hand over his mouth. "Yami... Oh, _Ra_... I'm sorry! How _rude _of me!" No one liked being poked like that. Speaking of which...

"Yami?"

"Yes?"

"Can I... do you mind if I ask... ask you a question?

"Go on."

"Why..." Pale brows knitted as he cocked his head to this side, peering hard at the sweet roll. He understood the haunting part. But, what he _still _found a little confusing..."Why did you come back as a...a _sweet roll_?"

"I _didn't_."

"What?" Malik blinked.

"I _said_... I _didn't _come back as a sweet roll."

Malik scratched his head. If Yami did not come back as as... who he was talking to did not... oh. Oh. _Oh_. Lavender eyes waxed round as realization came crashing down. Hard. In a flash, the petrified Egyptian was cowering against the wooden rails on the other side of the porch.

"Who the hell are you?" Malik demanded.

"I'm _Yami_."

"Oh, no you're _not_." Malik snarled, shaking his head. "_Yami _is the _sweet roll _on my chair, which you just told me you're _not_." The blonde accused, fresh tears forming in his eyes, grimoire open, thumbing the pages in a panic.

"Malik."

"Don't you _Malik _me, you lying _fiend_." God. Where the hell was Marik to send someone to the Shadow Realm when you needed him?

"Malik!"

Flip, flip, flip!

"_Malik_!"

"Will you stop _screaming _at me so I can find the spell I need to banish you?" Malik growled. Stupid, noisy, lying spirit! Damn it. What was with all the Latin, Ryou? Christ!

"_**Malik**_!"

"_Hey_!" Malik grabbed the other end of the book, trying to wrench it out of the other set of hands. "Give it _back_, you..." Curious lavender gems blinked up at the slender figure that stood bathed in the remaining candlelight. "_Wow_... Ryou and Bakura really _do _know their onions on this raising the dead business."

**FIN**

Yeah. I think Malik should leave the necromancing to Ryou and Bakura. But, the good news is, it looks like we _might _be on the verge of a break through.

Next chapter will be the last one.

Review me. Please?


	8. Chapter 8

So. Here we are. At the end of our little adventure through the madness of Malik Ishtar. I wonder if Malik _learned _anything from this whole ordeal? You remember how in _Last Rites and Lemon Meringue _he absolutely refused to listen to Bakura? I wonder if that bit about history repeating itself has any truth to it.

**Sweet Rolls From The Grave  
**By: Creature of Habit

The scene was the perfect postcard snapshot. Outside the grandiose picture window, the magnificent blue spruce were dusted with glistening snow. The light from the gently burning fireplace cast the entire room in rich, festive hues of copper and gold. In the center of the room, one man watched as his smaller twin spun a dreidel. A very endearing sight of family enjoying one another.

"Oh-ho no." Another resolute shake of the head.

"Pretty please with a _cherry _on top?" When was he going to learn that mockery never got him anywhere?

"If I've told you once, I've told you a _thousand _times – **no**!" He stomped a socked foot on the carpet to drive home his point.

"I'm _telling_ you, Malik..."

"Bakura, you are _not _lighting the _Menorah_!" Malik, lavender eyes narrowed, brushed roughly past the tomb robber, putting the lid on the latest petty dispute.

Perhaps _tolerating _each other would be a better fit.

"You threw my ham out in the back yard..." Bakura was _really _itching to test the results of the blonde hikari behind a well-greased slab of pig.

"Jewish people don't _eat _pork!"

"_**We're not Jewish**_!"

"Everyone _thinks_ Yugi is." Marik interjected, drawing the attention of aforementioned Yugi, who turned to blink cutely at the three of them.

"I _still _don't understand why everyone thinks that." Yugi mumbled, back to spinning the dreidel again. "Ack!" The violet-eyed boy winced as another white-dusted sphere connected with the side of his head, followed by a chuckle from Marik. Because of him, both he and Yami had been picking doughnut balls out of their hair all day.

Malik had made amazing progress in the past couple of months. Once he realized he had not _really _killed Yami, which would have probably been resolved a lot sooner, had Yami not been avoiding Malik at all costs, and had Malik not been in and out of houses like revolving doors, everything went pretty peachy. Of course, the blonde had yet to completely kick his Christmas phobia. So, in the interest of celebrating _something _this year, the hikari decided they would try Hanukkah.

"This is _my_..." A harsh glare from Marik. "I mean..._our _house, Bakura." Malik corrected. "And if I want Ryou to light _our _Menorah in _our _house, then Ryou will _damn well _light _our _Menorah!" With that, the Egyptian stomped to grab the arm of said boy, dragging him off the couch, and over to the many-armed golden holder.

After the recitation of some prayers, which Bakura pretended to snore through, Malik almost kicking him out of the house, and Marik throwing more doughnuts balls at the heads of Yami and Yugi, also nearly being thrown out of the house, it was time to actually light the symbol of the miracle.

"Ryou, if you would do us the honors." Malik handed him the lit service candle.

Ryou, with a smile, headed for the arm on the far left.

"Oh, no..." Malik shook his head. "The one on the far _right_, Ryou." The blonde hikari glared at Marik, who had found it more fun to throw doughnut balls at _him _now, his laughter drowning out the instructions he was trying to relay to Ryou.

"What was that, Malik?" Ryou turned to look behind himself, service candle still in hand as he did.

It was at this _very _moment that Yami, who had gone to fetch Yugi's dreidel from where it had rolled under the table, which just so happened to be the _same_ table Ryou was standing at, decided to stand up. His head connected with the service candle, jarring it out of a startled Ryou's hand, and there went the flaming object trouncing down his back.

The next thing everyone knew, Yami was on fire.

Poor Ryou, much like Malik the year before, just stood there, hands clasped over his mouth, dark chocolate eyes swimming behind a curtain of tears.

"Yami, _please_... you need to _hold still_!" Yugi pleaded, giving chase to the panicking Yami with one of the thick blankets. "You're going to set the whole _house _on fire! _Yami!_" A few of the drapes, as well as one of the chairs, were already in flames.

"I think I _like _Hanukkah." Marik, who sat Indian style on the couch, roasting a marshmallow over the adjacent burning piece of furniture, wickedly chuckled.

"Told you to let _me _light it." Bakura slid a sidelong glare at a stunned Malik, who was cradling a traumatized Ryou at the bottom of the stairs, as he headed over to the couch, where he settled in beside Marik to soak up his own share of marshmallows and mayhem.

**FIN**

I sincerely ask for your forgiveness if I got anything wrong about Hanukkah. I am not, myself, Jewish, nor do I happen to know anyone who celebrates it. I did the best I could, with what I was able to research. If there is anything amiss and anyone wants that I should correct it, let me know, and I promise to do so.

Oh. God. We went through all of that – just to wind up right back at square one. All because Malik would not listen to Bakura. _Again_. Odd how Bakura is, in an oblique sort of way, if you squint real hard, embodies the voice of reason in this mess. I have no clue _why _I am torturing Yami so much. But, I am having a ball doing it! Honestly. I love Yami to bits.

A friend of mine – she laughed so hard so peed when she read this chapter. The thing about Yugi being Jewish is a veiled shout out to "Yu-Gi-Oh: The Abridged Series," by LittleKuriboh. I _so _laugh my butt off at that thing. True genius.

Review me if you please! And I hope you enjoyed the story.


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